


the moon never beams & stars never rise

by xxan



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Canonical Character Death, Ghosts, Halloween, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Supernatural Elements, it's spooky time :), let's play a fun game called "how can i use my college degree to make my fan fic more realistic?", this was inspired by my irrational love of ghost whisperer lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26829853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxan/pseuds/xxan
Summary: "Tasha swears this school is haunted, and I bet her 20 bucks it wasn't," Bucky whispered."The ghost just shows up around Halloween," Steve replied."Ooooooh, spoooooky."Steve is used to the ghost that shows up every year around Halloween to haunt his school.  Whatisdifferent is the new kid, Tony Stark, and the angry ghost that keeps trying to kill him.  It doesn't help that Steve is the only person who can help him.  Also, Tony isreallycute.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	1. i. the dead who is forsaken/may not be happy now

**Author's Note:**

> please check for possible trigger warnings at the end!
> 
> I wanted to write something spooky for the Halloween season, and couldn't shake my love of ghost stories. So, here's a good, old-fashioned ghost story! I wouldn't consider this a horror story by any means, but the subject matter is dark by nature.
> 
> I'll be posting the other chapters throughout the month, so you'll be able to read it to get into the spooky mood by Halloween!

“Hey, can I meet up with you after school to work on the lab report? I can’t figure out the part about the strawberry enzymes,” the kid sitting next to Steve whispered. He was leaning in very close to Steve, so close that Steve could feel his desk neighbor’s cool breath on his face.

Steve fixated on the lecture, staring rigidly at the board in the front of the room. That was the point of sitting in the back of the room; no one was supposed to notice you. He knew he couldn’t be seen talking to Kevin Sydney. His converse shoes were just as beat up and worn as Steve’s own shoes, but unlike Steve, he wore a dark striped sweater and an even darker pair of worn out jeans. Steve’s mother never let his jeans get to that point; she’d usually drag him to the charity shop long before that, and coo as he tried on every pair of pants in the store.

“Oh, come on, man! Why are you ignoring me, too? I can’t take this anymore!” The kid slammed his books on his desk and stood up so fast his chair tipped over. The other students jumped. The blonde girl in front of Kevin accidentally flung her pen in surprise. Steve felt bad for her; Carol was nice and one of the toughest girls he knew, but even she was frightened by Kevin’s outburst.

Out of the corner of his eye, but carefully so Kevin wouldn’t notice, Steve watched him stomp out of the room. The remaining students began nervously chattering to each other.

Steve couldn’t blame them; he’d be just as scared if he hadn’t seen it unfold. Of course, Steve was still terrified that he could see it in the first place.

It was only a week until Halloween, and they’d been reading some gothic literature to get in the holiday spirit. Clearly, it worked, since a chair being knocked over got most of the class worked up.

“Quiet, please!” His teacher called. Mr. Vell was a nice, unassuming man with a fondness for argyle sweaters and earl grey tea.

“Steve, did you see what happened?” He asked

“No,” Steve lied. “I think it was just the draft.”

Mr. Vell eyed Steve once, before flicking his eyes over to the fallen chair. Steve knew there was no way he could be blamed for the chair. Mr. Vell seemed to come to this conclusion as well, nodding. After all, this room always was drafty this time of year. Papers slid off desks and pen cups would fall over.

“Yes, you’re probably right. I’ll get the maintenance men on this after school,” he nodded again, assured. “Does anyone else notice it gets a little drafty in here this time of the year?”

The students all nodded. They were right, of course. The air always was a bit drafty in this classroom, even when it had been a biology lab. There was still a drain in the corner.

Steve tried to not look too suspicious when he scurried out of class at the end of the period. Mr. Vell shot him a concerned glance as he left, but Steve ignored it. As he strode down the hallway, he tried not to glance at the plaque hanging next to an administrative room, winking at him as he passed it. "In Loving Memory," it read, followed by a picture of the kid Steve had seen stomp out of class so angrily. 

_Kevin Sydney_

_1975-1991_

_A friend to all._

_Change in all things is sweet._

"This isn't right!" Kevin shouted from the other end of the hall. Steve felt the room grow chilly, and he knew the other students could feel it too; he saw a boy shrug on his jacket. He stumbled his way to the plaque. "I'm not dead! I'm right here! You can see me, right?" He tried to grab the arm of a girl passing by, but his hand only passed through. "What?" Kevin muttered.

Steve didn't really stare. It was just that he had seen Kevin do this for three years now. Every year, during the week leading up to his death date, Kevin would reappear, live his 'life' for a few days, and then vanish again. Last year, Kevin had blown up in the exact same way, but it also ended with him trying to jump in front of a moving car. Steve had to admit it had been a quick way of testing a theory. Steve assumed he'd been doing it since the '90s, when he'd originally died.

Steve knew to keep his head down, though. He had tried in the beginning, he really had. Steve still remembered the first time he'd seen a dead soul. He had only been four years old at the time, and his knobby knees had been skinned after a tussle with a schoolyard bully. (His name was Mark McCarthy, not that it mattered. Anymore.) The both of them had been suspended from the hospital daycare, so Steve's mother was minding him while she worked. (Mark McCarthy's rich dad had been able to pay for a private babysitter, he'd smugly informed Steve while the two of them waited in the time-out chairs for their parents to come pick them up. His taunting a friend of Steve's who lived down the hall from him and couldn’t afford new shoes this season _might_ have been what got Steve mad in the first place. If Steve's mother hadn't shown up at that exact moment looking so tired, Steve might have jumped on Mark again.) 

Steve would have been more upset about the whole thing, but his mother hadn't been too angry at him and the other nurses kept slipping him cookies behind his mother's back. The other nurses always cooed at Steve and were more than happy to let him color quietly in their break lounge.

Steve never saw any ghosts around his apartment, nor did he see any around his daycare, new as it was. So when he saw the strange man, he had no reason to suspect he was not like Steve. The man had been dressed like a doctor in a movie Steve had seen, and, in Steve's professional opinion, looked like a much more serious doctor than Mark McCarthy's dad. He had salt and pepper hair and a stethoscope dangling around his neck. He was also shorter than Marc McCarthy’s dad, and that made Steve like him instantly. Shorter adults were usually nicer to Steve.

"What happened to your leg, son?" The doctor asked. There was something funny about his voice, but Steve had been so scared of being kicked out that all he could squeak out was, "Nothin', sir." Steve had always been aware that his being there was conditional on how unnoticeable he was to the doctors.

"Mind if I look?" The doctor smiled nicely.

Nodding politely so his momma wouldn't get in trouble, Steve scooted his chair out far enough so the man could get a good look at his knees. The doctor crouched down to Steve's level, but it didn't feel condescending, like it did with most adults.

"These look like they've been bandaged up nice and tight." The doctor said. Steve nodded.

"My momma did, sir."

"Oh? Who's your mother?"

"Sarah Rogers," Steve puffed out his chest a bit. "And she's the best nurse in the whole hospital! She always bandages up my scrapes and stuff real nicely." 

"Always? Do you get into fights a lot, Steve?"

Steve blushed. "Not unless they start it, sir." He dropped his head a little. "Hey! I didn't give you my name! Did the other nurses tell you about me?"

"Something like that. About all these scrapes; I know I'm just an old man, but can I give you some advice?"

Steve nodded glumly. Adults were always telling him off for things that weren't his fault, like earlier, when he'd been suspended along with stupid Mark and it hadn't even been his fault because if stupid Mark had just kept his mouth shut Steve wouldn't have had to--

"My advice is this; you can't go in swinging without a plan. Of course, you shouldn't be hitting _anyone_ , but if you do, it better have a purpose, you hear me? Smaller folks like you or me have to be smart with our punches, you see, and we've got to get it done in only one punch if the situation calls for it. So, if you get into this position again, take a step back, and then _wham!;_ you hit him right in the-"

"Dr. Stuart!"

The two of them turned to see Mrs. Rogers in the doorway. 

"I should have known this one belonged to you." Dr. Stuart said with a warm smile. "He has your talents, no?"

Steve's mother smiled nervously. "I'm sorry you had to watch him for so long." 

"Not to worry," Dr. Stuart waved her off. "He's a delightful young man. Maybe you'll help people, like your mother?" He asked Steve.

Steve wrinkled his nose. "I don't want to be a nurse."

The doctor laughed but Steve didn't think what he said had been particularly funny, so he just nodded politely. Mrs. Rogers stared at them for just a moment longer before gesturing to Steve.

"I appreciate your time, Dr. Stuart, but we really must be going now. Steve, go grab your coat."

Before Steve could hop off his chair, the Dr. Stuart leaned in and whispered, "They keep the cookies in the top drawer."

"Thank you!" Steve whispered back with a delighted grin. 

"Anytime."

Steve scurried to get his coat on. He turned around to give Dr. Stuart one last wave before he and his mother left, but the man was already gone.

"Momma, where did he go?" Steve tugged on her sleeve.

His mother's eyes widened. "I don't know." she admitted. "He usually never leaves.”

"Will he be back next time?" Steve asked.

"I certainly hope not." At the frown twisted on Steve's face, she quickly added, "He's been here so long. It's about time he went into the--retirement. It's about time that he retired."

And true to Sarah’s prediction, Steve had never seen Dr. Stuart again.

Kevin was no kindly Dr. Stuart, who had just wanted one last chance to comfort a hurt child. Kevin was angry and confused. 

And there was nothing Steve could do to help him.

"Yo, Stevie! Wait up!" Bucky hurtled towards Steve. A physics teacher stuck her head out of her door to send a harsh "Shhhh!" at Bucky, who rolled his eyes and muttered, "Sorry, Ms. Storm."

The teacher scoffed again and closed the door.

"Jesus H. Christ, I wonder what her problem is." Bucky huffed. Steve glanced at him. "Okay, yes; I technically know what her problem is, _Mom_." 

"If I was your mom, I would have decked you for your mouth," Steve replied.

"You have decked me for my mouth before." Bucky laughed as Steve bumped his shoulder against Bucky's.

"So, that blast of cold air back in English... was that you?"

"Bucky!" Steve hissed.

"You know what I mean! " Bucky muttered back. "Tasha swears this school is haunted, and I bet her 20 bucks it wasn't. I mean, I’m _your_ best friend and it’s not like you’ve ever lied to me before."

Steve jerkily nodded his head.

"Oh, come on man! " Bucky whined. "We've been going here for over three years now and you never thought to mention it to me, once?!"

"He just shows up around Halloween."

"Ooooooh, spoooooky," Bucky whispered with a grin.

"No, not spooky. It's sad and I can't seem to help him."

"Have you tried asking your mom?" Bucky replied.

"Not yet. I just don't think I should get involved." This time it was Bucky's turn to give him a withering look. "He's really angry, Bucky. Each year he gets worse, and he's been doing it for over 20 years now." 

"Is it that one kid?"

Steve nodded.

"Have you tried talking to a teacher about him? I think Mr. Vell's been here that long, along with Dr. Pym.”

"And ask them what? 'Hello, there; you're old enough to know this dead kid that keeps showing up to haunt the school, right? Anyways, do you know what his deal is?'" Steve snorted. "I'm sure that'll work out just fine for me.."

"Not if you say it like that." Bucky frowned. "Just make up something. Lie about an older cousin asking around or for, like, a school research paper."

"I don’t think I have the time, honestly. I only have until next Friday. He’s always vanished before November second."

"All Soul's Day." Bucky commented.

"Don't say it's--"

"Spooky." Bucky finished with a grin.

"Do you hear something?" Steve asked, turning his head towards the hallway.

"No. Do you hear dead people?" 

"Not _now_ , Bucky." Steve glanced down at his watch. "Shit, it's 2:04." That's when Kevin died. There was a ghost who liked to haunt the records room and Steve had promised her he’d fish out her ring from under a vending machine and mail it to her granddaughter in exchange for Kevin’s death records.

“I've never seen this before..."

"Seen what?!" Bucky asked.

"His death. My ma always said that spirits with painful deaths sometimes get caught in a loop. They relive their death. And now, Kevin is-"

"Hey, stop it!" Kevin shouted. Kevin was flung against the wall by some unforeseen force.

"St-stop...please!" Kevin gasped for air. "I-"

He fell to the ground, where he lay crouched for a few moments, before sinking down onto the ground. 

"Kevin, are you alright?" Steve ran towards him. He tried to grab onto Kevin's arm, but his fingers slid right through.

"Please, somebody help me!" Kevin gasped out, weakly.

"Kevin, I'm right here!"

But of course Kevin did not see Steve; all he saw were more ghosts, long forgotten and just as dead to Steve as Kevin himself was.

"No..." Kevin whispered. His body began to flicker and fade, and soon the hallway contained just he and Bucky once again.

"Steve, man, what happened?"

"I just saw Kevin die." Steve brushed a tear away. "Bucky, I think someone might have killed Kevin."

“Why’d you try to grab him? D’you think you can touch ghosts now?” Bucky sounded excited, like he always did when Steve would talk about ghosts with him.

“No, it’s not like that at all. I just thought… it looked so real. Kevin died in a lot of pain and for a moment it was like it was happening for the first time. It was so...sad. I just thought I could help.”

Bucky bumped Steve’s shoulder.

“You did the right thing, Steve, by trying to help.”

“I didn’t know he died like that. If I had, maybe I would’ve-”

Bucky immediately cut Steve off.

“Nope, sorry. You can’t know that. Besides, you’ve got that look in your eyes that says you’re going to do something about it now.”

Steve grinned a little.

“Yeah, I am. Are you in?”

“Hell yeah, I’m in! We’re like the Ghostbusters, dude!”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Shit! There’s the bell; we’re already late for class. Coulson’s going to kill us.” Steve grabbed Bucky’s arm and dragged him down the hall.

“So what’s the game plan for Kevin?” Bucky asked as Steve herded him up the stairs and down the hall towards History. Coulson’s classroom was tucked up on the third floor. The school building itself was also pretty old, so the stairs up were steep and slippery when it rained. Not that it had been raining lately, which is why the puddles on the steps confused Steve for a moment. He decided someone had probably spilled a drink on the way to class, and in their haste to not get punished for tardiness, had just left it there.

“I don’t know yet.”

“How do you fight an angry ghost?”

“Not sure.” How odd. The puddles continued on the floor all the way to Coulson’s door. If Steve didn’t know better, he’d assume someone had gotten stuck in a flash storm.

“How do you think he really died?”

“Bucky, not now!” Steve opened the classroom door. The door handle was wet.

“So nice of you boys to join the rest of us. Being late won’t get you out of turning in your reading assignment, I’m afraid.” Coulson pointed to a pile of papers on his desk.

“Sorry, Mr. Coulson.” Steve replied contritely. “I got held up in Lit and Bucky waited for me as I-”

Steve felt a prickling chill fill the air and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Someone had tracked water in here, all right, but it hadn’t been a student.

“I got you into the best damn school in the country, boy, but you couldn’t keep yourself behaved for ten minutes, could you?!” A sopping wet man in a business suit was yelling at another student, who happened to be sitting right next to Steve’s empty desk. “I don’t even want to know whatever it was you did to get yourself sent here. But now you don’t even pay attention in class? This is unacceptable!”

The man reached down to grab the boy’s arm. Holy shit! Ghosts usually couldn’t physically touch people, but the boy’s arm jerked as if the ghost really had managed to hold on to him.

“Right; you’ve missed the introductions. Meet Tony Stark, Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes.” Coulson said, nodding his head to the boy with the ghost. “He just transferred and he’ll be finishing up school with you all.”

Steve just stared. Bucky grabbed his forearm and dragged him to his desk.

“Sorry about that, Mr. Coulson. American Lit was, uh, really hard for Steve today. He’s just very shocked about Edgar Allan Poe. Tragic, really.” Bucky lied.

He shoved Steve into his chair before sinking into his desk behind Steve.

“Well, I’m sure we can all agree that was...weird.” Mr. Coulson remarked. “And moving on from...whatever that was, can anyone tell me about the Constitutional Convention? Anyone at all? … I’ll accept one word answers at this point. No one? You all took notes on it for your homework. Am I going to suffer as I read those later tonight?” He sighed. “Probably. Okay, let’s go back to the beginning. In 1787-”

Steve couldn’t focus on the lecture at all. Good God, but the ghost next to him was distracting. He wasn’t talking anymore, just glaring angrily at the boy, Tony. There was no way Tony could see him, but Steve knows he saw Tony jerk his arm earlier.

The bell rang, but Tony didn’t move. Steve slowly gathered his things and watched Tony out of the corner of his eye, who resolutely kept his eyes looking straight ahead. The other students quickly filed out. He quickly jerked his head at Bucky, who nodded back and followed his classmates out.

“Well, aren’t you going to hurry home, boy? I’m sure Jarvis is waiting to coddle you.” The ghost sneered. “I’m not sure what-”

“You know,” Tony said softly and Steve jumped. They were the only two students left in the room, and Coulson had already begun separating their homework into piles. “At least the other kids have the decency to not pretend they aren’t staring at the new kid. I get it; we’re always freaks. But there’s something about you watching me out of the corner of your eye that’s really pissing me off.” Tony snatched his books off his desk and stomped out of the door, pushing past Bucky, who had been loitering around for Steve.

“Wait, no-” Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm.

“Leave me alone, Simon.”

“It’s Steve,” Steve called, weakly.

Tony turned around and pierced Steve with a glare. Oh God. Tony had really pretty eyes; they were so dark and deep and even from a few feet away Steve could see they were framed with lovely little eyelashes.

“Steve; fuck you.” Tony spun back around and hastily hurried down the stairs.

Steve grimaced and Bucky let out a surprised guffaw.

“That has to be a new record for you.”

Steve groaned.

“I can’t believe you managed to piss off the new kid on the first day. What did you say to him?”

“I didn’t _say_ anything to him. I couldn’t stop watching him.”

Bucky whistled. “Congrats, Stevie! You’ve managed to piss off your first crush. It happens to the best of us!”

“He’s not my first- I mean, I don’t have a crush on him! God, what are we, five?”

“Fine, you don’t have a crush on him. You’re 'romantically attracted' to-”

“Bucky, will you stop it? I wasn’t staring at him because he’s cute-”

Bucky raised his eyebrows and Steve blushed.

“-I was staring at him because I think he’s being haunted,” Steve explained as he climbed down the stairs.

On the first floor landing, they could see Tony Stark at the end of the hall, standing in front of the elevator and fiddling with his phone. He was all bundled up (looking " _adorable_ ," as Steve's brain helpfully informed him, with his matching red hat and scarf.) Students weren't allowed to use the elevator; it was as old and as rickety as the rest of the building. Last year, when Natasha had broken her leg while skiing, Steve had helped her carry books to and from classes. They had gotten permission to ride the elevator, and every time Steve got on it he was convinced it was going to break down halfway between floors. It was one of those old fashioned ones, with the inner grate doors that unfurled shut. You had to manually yank the doors closed, which was the biggest reason Nat even bothered letting Steve help her; she couldn't hope to teeter on crutches while mustering the strength needed to properly close them.

The doors behind Tony slowly opened, and Steve saw them reveal the ghost from history class. He was too far away to get a good look at, but Steve could still see him slowly gathering up the ends of Tony's scarf. The ghost, clutching the bright red material, stepped back into the elevator. Steve could _feel_ what the ghost had in mind.

"NO!!" He shouted and let his backpack fall to the ground.

"Steve, what are you-!" Bucky took off after him.

The elevator doors quickly _clang!_ -ed shut. Steve broke into a run. The scarf was tightening around Tony's neck, and Steve could see his face getting redder and redder. He was close enough to make out the face of the ghost now, too; he was staring down at Tony through the window on the outside door with an odd expression as the elevator kept climbing upwards. Steve couldn't tell if it was filled with anger or confusion, and he couldn't waste any time trying to figure it out. He began to yank on the scarf but he just wasn't stronger than an elevator and an angry ghost.

"Let go!" He shouted in frustration. Bucky began to tug on the scarf, too. He loosened it just enough that Tony finally slipped out into Steve's arms.

Steve clutched Tony tightly as the other boy trembled in his arms.

"You're okay now. You're alright. You're safe," Steve murmured in his ear.

"Holy shit!" Bucky exclaimed. "I'm going to get Ms. Hill."

"No!" Tony protested, wriggling out of Steve's arms. "It's fine! I'm fine!"

Steve and Bucky stared at him.

"What? You can't go running for help every time you almost get hurt."

"...Tony, have you been having a lot of near death experiences, lately?" Steve asked.

"Nope. I haven't died yet so they clearly weren't near death." Tony said, smirking. His hands trembled a little.

"Let me rephrase that, then," Bucky said. "Have you been having a lot of very frightening _accidents_ lately?"

Tony swallowed.

"I'm fine," he muttered, more to himself than the other two boys. "I'M FINE!" He shouted when they didn't respond. "God, why won't you just leave me alone?!"

"Listen! We just saved your ungrateful ass! Steve here could have just let that ghost kill you, but since he's actually a good person, he saved your fucking life!"

"Ghost?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for this chapter is from Poe's _Bridal Ballad_ :  
> "Would God I could awaken!  
> For I dream I know not how!  
> And my soul is sorely shaken  
> Lest an evil step be taken,-  
> Lest the dead who is forsaken  
> May not be happy now."
> 
> Fun fact! Kevin Sydney is a Marvel character who died young! He was introduced as an X-Man, dying at the end of his arc. His codename was Changeling, hence his epithet. He's later briefly raised from the dead. He also makes a well-loved appearance as Morph in the animated 1990s X-Men cartoon.
> 
> Dr. Stuart appeared in 'X-Men: The Hidden Years' Volume 1. He is a obstetrician, so it's not out of left-field that he has a fondness for children :)
> 
> Also, my high school had one of those old-fashioned elevators, just like the one I described here. I rode in it a few times and it was terrifying. I'd rather just limp up several flights of stairs than ever ride that thing again. It was the slowest, lurchy-est elevator and part of the reason I always take the stairs when I can. The way that grate door clanged shut when you yank on it was not for me. It didn't help that my high school was supposedly haunted with the ghosts of the students and faculty that had died there, back when it used to be a boarding school.


	2. by a route obscure & lonely / haunted by ill angels only

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sure, Steve still hasn't solved the Kevin problem or figured out what's going on with Tony, but he does eat cake, so his Saturday wasn't a total bust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever write something, re-read it a few days later, and then realize it makes no sense? That's what happened here :(
> 
> So I started to rewrite it and then life throat-punched me and this took a backseat. 
> 
> This chapter came out much longer then I thought it would, so I split it in two, which means this is going to be a longer fic than I had planned for. This does mean that I'm going to have to rewrite the next two chapters, so I can't promise they'll come out in a timely manner :( sorry!!
> 
> Trigger warnings at the end notes, but spoilers beware!

Steve’s alarm went off at 6. He groaned and sunk back down into his pillow. He had spent the night tossing and turning as the events of yesterday replayed in his head.

_ "Listen! We just saved your ungrateful ass! Steve here could have just let that ghost kill you, but since he's actually a good person, he saved your fucking life!" _

_ "Ghost?" _

_ Bucky froze as he realized what he said. _

_ “Er, we have to get to practice now. So bye!” Bucky grabbed Steve by the arm and attempted to drag him away. _

_ Tony raised an eyebrow and pointed at a poster hanging behind Bucky. _

_ ‘Soccer Tryouts This Weekend!! _

_ Season runs from August to November. _

_ Practice: 4 pm Monday-Friday, 10 am Saturday. _

_ PRACTICES ARE MANDATORY (THIS INCLUDES YOU, BARNES)!!!’ _

_ Steve winced. As a co-captain, it was actually supposed to be his job to take down the posters months ago, but clearly he bungled that one, too. _

_ “Er, it was a joke.” But Bucky said it more like a question than anything else. “It’s October, you see, and they say this school is haunted and all, not that we would know anything about that because everyone knows ghosts aren’t real. Ha ha.” _

_ “No, I want you to explain,” Tony said. “Do you two think you can see ghosts?” _

_ “No; that would be totally crazy!” Bucky said. Steve swallowed. He could feel something gnawing at him in the pit of his stomach. What was Bucky even supposed to say? He should have known Bucky would shoot Steve in his foot in his haste to defend him. _

_ “Yeah, crazy,” he muttered. _

_ “Not like that!” Bucky turned to Steve. Then, he flicked his eyes back to Tony, who was glaring at the both of them. “It’s just that-” _

_ “Drop it, Bucky.” Steve turned and collected his bag, leaving the other two boys to stare at him. He didn’t talk to Bucky at practice, either. In fact, he didn’t talk to anyone at practice. What was the point? Tony was going to tell everyone that Steve was crazy at school on Monday and there’d be no way to stop him. Their coach yelled at him in front of the rest of the team, but Steve barely even noticed it. _

_ “Steve! Please talk to me!” Bucky begged him after practice. “I didn’t mean it like that!” _

_ “I know you didn’t, Bucky.” Steve had replied. _

_ “But I still said it, didn’t I?” Bucky grimaced. _

_ Sam, too, had tried to catch his eye, but Steve couldn’t meet his. God, what would Sam think? Sam was Steve's first friend outside of Bucky, and he'd always been there for Steve, even before Steve's growth spurt and before he joined the soccer team. _

_ Would he be pissed that Steve hadn't told him? Or would he cut Steve out? Steve's mother had warned him all those years ago, back when he'd seen his first ghost; 'Be careful who you tell, because not everyone will respect your gift.' _

_ Ha. 'Gift.' When had it ever been a gift, and not a terrible burden? He wasn't like his ma, who had seen what people with unfinished business became when they died and had decided to dedicate her life to helping living people tie up loose ends. _

Steve rolled back over. Maybe he could tell Coach he'd come down with something and couldn't make it to their Saturday morning practice. It wasn't technically a lie; Steve felt miserable and knew he'd only drag the rest of the team down with him.

He rolled out of bed and padded to the kitchen and found Coach's number taped to the fridge. Coach wished him well and told him he'd better be at practice on Monday if he wanted to keep his spot on the roster. 

Steve couldn't loiter around their apartment all day. His mother was sleeping in for now, but there was no guarantee she wouldn't wake up and start asking Steve questions about why he wasn't at practice. Usually, he'd hang out at Prospect Park, since the ghosts that tended to hang out there were mostly just some Quakers who liked to give Steve some old-fashioned advice whenever he saw them. But, that was too close to school (and Bucky, who would sometimes cut through the park when he was bored).

Steve's mom had hung a framed hand drawn map of Brooklyn on one of their living room walls, and Steve stared at the little parks that dotted the borough while he combed his hair. He mentally ticked off parks. Green-Wood was out, since he was trying to avoid ghosts today and there were a few permanent residents who all flocked to Steve whenever he visited. And, as Steve had discovered long ago, naming your parks after someone was a surefire way to attract otherworldly visitors, for whatever reason. He furrowed his brow. That basically left only Brooklyn Bridge Park. Back when he was younger, it had been one of the few parks that Steve and his mom could go to; he had been allergic to almost every type of grass and weed, and his mother tried her best to shield him from some of New York's most haunted parks. 

He took the B61 bus to Hicks Street and walked the rest of the way to Pier 4. It was early enough in the morning, and late enough in the year, that Steve felt confident that he would be the only one there for a while. Steve sank down onto the retaining wall, closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the waves cresting against a passing ferry. 

He felt exhausted and so, so guilty. He only had one more chance to help Kevin, who was sure to once again vanish by Sunday. And until then, each day at exactly 2:14 Kevin would painfully die over and over again. And Tony Stark… Tony Stark would probably tell the rest of the school. Steve wouldn’t blame him if he did; Steve kind of deserved it because of the way he’d acted yesterday. But if Tony did decide to do that, then there was no way Steve would be able to fix the Kevin problem without everyone watching him.

Steve swallowed past the lump in his throat and told himself to suck it up. If he didn’t want to be exposed as the village freak at school, he was going to have to put things right. If there was one person he could rely on when it came to knowing everything, it was Nat. He yanked out his phone and sent a text to Natasha.

>Steve: Do you have Tony Stark’s number?

The response was immediate.

>Natasha: who wants 2 know

>Steve: We got off on the wrong foot on Friday and I wanted to smooth things over before school on Monday.

_Yep_ , he thought to himself. _That’s the only reason you want to talk to him_.

>Natasha: bucky said u might b asking me

>Natasha: what makes u think i have his #??

>Steve: Are you telling me you don’t?

>Natasha: good point. I *do* have his # but only bc we met at a party last year. it was sort of a friend of a friend situation, u know?

>Natasha: i’ll give it 2 u in exchange for a favor

>Natasha: same friend of a friend is throwing a halloween party & i promised i’d bring some of my hot friends

>Steve: I wasn’t aware I was one of your hot friends :)

>Natasha: u aren’t. bucky & sam wont go if u don’t

>Steve: :(

>Natasha: jk lol. but u should let me pick out ur costume for the party

>Steve: So just to reiterate: you *are* going to give me Tony Stark’s number if I promise to go to a party with you? And also, I’m hot?

>Natasha: yes 2 both :) but im going 2 give u a makeover one of these days. tony stark would prefer u with a better haircut, too :)

>Steve: Please give me his number, now.

Nat sent Steve Tony’s number and Steve added it to his contact list.

>Steve: Dear Tony Stark: Hello. It is Steve Rogers from school, and I was wondering if we could have a chance to discuss the events that transpired yesterday afternoon.

Nope, that sounded stodgy. Steve quickly deleted it.

>Steve: DO NOT TELL ANYONE ABOUT THE GHOST THING!!!

That was way too aggressive. Steve erased that, too, before settling on:

>Steve: I’m sorry for the way I behaved at school yesterday. If you’re free sometime this weekend, I’d love to talk.

There. Vague enough that it would lead Tony to think he was normal.

Steve thought he heard a buzz from a curve of water that was hidden from his view by an outcropping of rocks. And it wasn’t a bird buzzing; it sounded like a phone buzzing, which was impossible. Everyone knew people weren’t allowed to swim in the water. He shook it off, and sent Tony another text.

>Steve: Would you mind if I called you later tonight?

Steve heard the buzzing again. _There was no way Tony was splashing around in the water,_ he told himself. He dialed Tony’s number anyways. Tony definitely wasn’t in the water, but Steve always had a problem of not knowing when to stop. Once, he’d chased a ghost to the roof of the Waldorf-Astoria, where he had been terrifying his widow. He had helped that ghost crossover, and had gotten banned from the hotel for his troubles. (He was lucky the ghost’s spouse had found him and convinced the security guards to drop the threat of pressing trespassing charges.)

From the other side of the rocks, Steve could hear the sound of a phone playing a jaunty little rock song.

“Tony? Are you there?” Steve asked, walking over and clamoring over the rocks.

His eyes fell on the figure of a teenage boy with dark hair floating face down in the bay. Steve immediately took off towards the water. Bucky always said he had a habit of leaping before he looked, and Steve mused to himself that he maybe was right. (This time.)

Steve kicked off his socks and shoes and yanked off his jacket as he ran towards the water. He dove in, the water colder than it looked.

Steve wasn’t really a swimmer, so it was lucky for him that the bay didn’t get too deep here. He could still touch the bottom of the sound with his feet but he was smart enough to know not to. 

He wound his arms underneath Tony’s, flipping him and pressing his back against Steve’s chest. He wasn’t a lifeguard, but he’d seen one carry a person like this in a movie before. He kicked his legs as he hauled Tony back to the outcropping of rocks that lined the sides of the beach.

Steve paused for a moment; should he try to perform CPR on these rocks, or would that only hurt Tony more? But then, wouldn’t dragging him across the rocks also hurt him? There wasn’t time for this; Tony’s face was turning blue. Decision made, he lowered Tony down on the rocks and knelt down to perform CPR.

One, two, three compressions. Four, five, six. Steve counted to 30, but Tony still didn’t breathe. Steve squeezed Tony’s nose and lowered his head for a rescue breath. _Sorry, Tony_ , Steve thought. Tony would forgive him, right? Steve was about to seal their lips together when Tony began to cough.

“Tony, can you breathe?”

Tony nodded, sucking in small little pants of air. Steve just watched him.

“I’m going to grab my jacket; can you sit up on your own?” Tony nodded. Steve got his jacket and bundled Tony up in it. Steve helped him sit upright and he felt Tony’s frame shivering beneath his fingers. 

Tony tilted his body into Steve’s, and Steve began rubbing little circles into Tony’s back.

“Please tell me nobody kissed me.” Tony said softly into Steve’s shoulder. Steve twitched his lips into a smile. 

“I’m going to call an ambulance now, alright?”

“No!” Tony shouted. “Er, no thank you. I’m-,” he said, and then promptly coughed up some Atlantic water into his own lap. “Perfectly fine.” He shot Steve a weak grin. Steve tried hard not to roll his eyes. This guy was going to get himself killed.

“Please don’t,” he said softly when Steve began to fumble with his phone. Tony locked his eyes onto Steve’s, and _Oh God_ they were still as big and brown as they were yesterday at school. _No, don’t think about that right now._ Steve shook his head. The grin dropped off Tony’s face, replacing it with a far more somber look that, amazingly, wasn’t diminished by the fact that Tony looked like a drowned rat. “Alright,” he said. “On one condition-”

“I won’t tell you how I got in there.” Tony jerked his head at the dark water. On the other side, Steve could see Manhattan glittering like the prized necklace Brooklyn had never been.

“No, I was going to tell you that you need to let my mom look you over. She’s a nurse at the hospital by school.”

At Tony’s frown, Steve added, “She’s really very nice! Can’t give you any stickers, though.”

They sat there for a few minutes, with Steve and Tony huddling together. And it was nice. 

“How did you find me?” Tony asked when his breathing finally evened out.

“I called and-”

Tony jerked away so quickly Steve had whiplash.

“How did you call me? How do you have my number? Are you following me all over Brooklyn?”

Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“You… you transferred to my school.”

“Yeah, and that’s twice now you’ve shown up where you shouldn’t be!”

“This is a public beach!” Steve protested. “How was I supposed to know I’d be saving your sorry ass again? Can’t you read the ‘No Swimming Allowed!’ signs?”

“I can read, asshole! _I’m_ the genius, here.”

“That’s funny. I didn’t think I was too stupid to save your life. Twice now.” Steve said softly.

Tony’s mouth snapped shut. He dragged a wet, shaking hand through his hair. His hair had been relatively straight yesterday, but the water must have washed out some hair product; curls were beginning to spring up like daisies. Spring curls, his mom called them.

“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry. What’s wrong with me? Look, I’m grateful you saved my life. I really am.”

Steve blinked. “That’s okay. I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot yesterday.”

Tony snorted. “I think I can take some of the blame for that, too.” Then, he stuck out a hand at Steve. “Do over?”

Steve grabbed it, a small smiling pulling at his lips.

“You bet,” he replied.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure. Hey! You never answered my question; did you kiss me?”

“No, I didn’t kiss you. I was trying to give you mouth-to-mouth, but you woke up before I could.”

“I guess I’m lucky I woke up when I did.” At Steve’s questioning eyebrow, Tony continued: “You didn’t have time to botch my rescue. Right now, you’re literally a demigod who’s saved my life twice now.”

Steve frowned. “I wouldn’t have botched it! My mom’s a nurse; she keeps me up to date on my certification. Besides, you’re far more likely to get injured during the chest compressions than the mouth-to-mouth.”

“So if I wake up with bruises all over my chest tomorrow, I should sue you first? I mean, I’m already going to sue you for not letting me get put out of my misery, but I’d like to know if I should add anything else on.”

“That isn’t funny, Tony.” Steve snapped. His hands shook but he couldn’t tell if it was shock, fear or the chill October air. Maybe it was all three.

Tony snorted. “I’m certainly not _not_ funny. Don’t worry though; I’ll only sue you for this wonderful jacket.” Tony snuggled himself further into Steve’s jacket.

“My mom will kill me if she has to buy me another coat.” Steve groaned. Tony laughed (and only coughed a little when he did) and Steve assumed he wasn’t going to get an answer out of Tony today. So far, it’s been kind of nice. Nice, that is, when you leave out the part about Tony almost drowning to death, of course.

The two of them settled into a still silence; Tony was bundled up in Steve’s too big coat, and Steve was slowly rubbing Tony’s shoulders.

“I don’t know how I got here,” Tony said softly. Steve jostled a little, but he let Tony go on without interrupting him.

“For the past few months, I-” And Tony choked off. “I-”

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“I am if you’re going to keep saving my life.”

Tony paused.

“Did you feel that? It was like sitting under an air conditioner and getting a blast of cold air.”

“No, I can’t say that I did.” Steve frowned. He glanced behind him, where a little family was approaching the beach with a picnic basket. “We should probably get going, though. There are going to be more families as the day goes on.”

“Don’t want to be seen in public with me, huh? I’ll have you know people would _die_ for that honor, Steve.” Tony fixed him with a glare.

“No, I-!”

“Relax, Steve. I’m just yanking your chain.” Tony winked, his eyes once again warm with mirth and Steve swallowed. Yesterday, and today after Steve had fished Tony from the water, Tony’s eyes had been warm, but that was nothing compared to them being lit up with sheer glee.

“You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you bet.” Tony grinned. “But no one’s ever complained about me before.”

He laughed at Steve’s blush.

Steve’s mother was stirring something on the stove with her back turned to the door when they arrived.

“Mrs. Abernathy says she saw James cutting through Green-Wood by himself.” She said, still facing the stove.

“Mom, I-”

“And I thought we were _very_ clear that you would treat practice as a privilege.” She punctuated her words by aggressively whipping at whatever was in the pot. Baker’s chocolate, if Steve was right. He could see three circular pans sitting on the counter next to her.

“Can I just-”

“You said that you wanted a chance for a normal childhood! Well, young man, if this is what you think flies for normal around here then-” Sarah whipped around, pointing her spatula at Steve. Her eyes widened when she saw Tony. “-you’ve got…” she trailed off, her brandished spatula dripping batter onto the floor.

“Mom, this is Tony.” Steve gestured at the aforementioned Tony, who stuck out his hand. “Tony, this is my mom, Sarah Rogers.”

“Oh! Nice to meet you, Tony.”

“Likewise, Mrs. Rogers,” Tony replied.

“Have you mentioned a ‘Tony’ before?” Sarah muttered at Steve.

“Tony’s new.” Sarah pursed her lips at that, but she was never the type to kick out guests, unless they pissed her off or refused to cross over, and Steve could never figure out if she preferred drunk visitors to dead ones.

"I ran into him when I pulled him out of the harbor."

"Harbor? What were you doing in the harbor?" She directed the question at Steve, her eyes narrowing. Tony let out a sad, wet cough, and Sarah's eyes softened.

"Oh, you poor thing," she cooed. "You look like a drowned rat." Her words made Tony's face fall. Sarah immediately noticed and led Tony into Tony down the hall. 

She passed him a towel. "Why don't you dry off in the bathroom and I'll get you some dry clothes to change into? Steve, can you find Tony some clothes that'll fit him?"

Nodding, Steve found an old sweatshirt and pants. The jeans would be a little big on Tony, but Steve was sure he wouldn't mind too much.

"Tony, I'm putting the clothes outside the bathroom door. Get them when you're ready, okay? If you give me your wet things, I can put them in the dryer and you can wear them home."

Steve heard a muffled reply through the door.

"Excellent," Sarah said sunnily. Then she turned to face Steve, and her eyes narrowed.

"What were you doing in the harbor this morning?"

"I was-"

"How long have you been cutting practice?"

"Ma, Jesus-" 

Sarah squinted her eyes even more.

"I mean, gee. I don't cut practice! Except-"

"Except for today. Well, what's stopping you from cutting practice on Monday? Or Tuesday? Or any other day after that? Why don't you just turn in your jersey now if that's how you're going to behave?"

"I only cut practice because-" he cut himself off. "Ma, I think Tony's-" Steve's eyes widened.

"Hi, Tony." Tony had come out of the bathroom wearing Steve's clothes. _Of course he's wearing your clothes, you idiot. You gave them to him._ Steve told himself. _Did you think he'd magically find an extra set of clothes that weren't?_

"Steve says you fell into the harbor." Sarah said easily to Tony, but she flashed a look to Steve that screamed their conversation wasn't over yet.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," Tony replied. 

"Did he give you chest compressions?" Sarah asked him.

"Yeah, I mean I think he did. I wasn't awake for them, but I think so."

"Steven, why wouldn't you take Tony to the hospital if you gave him CPR?"

"I asked him not to!" Tony quickly said. "I didn't want to go to one, so Steve said I had to come home with him. I hope that's okay?" He looked pleadingly between the two of them.

"Of course it is, love." Sarah replied. "I still think I should call your mother and have her come get you."

"She's...um... she's out of town right now. My father is, too." Steve saw Tony swallow, and he couldn't tell if Tony was nervous because of the third degree his mother was currently subjecting him to, or whether it was something else.

Sarah pursed her lips. "Well, I guess I'll just have you Steve take you home after dinner."

"Dinner?"

"I am not letting you go home for a few hours. I'd like to monitor you, if you don't mind."

"Actually, I'd rather just go home now." Tony said.

"Of course!" Sarah smiled, and Steve grimaced. He knew what her tone meant. "We can take you home right after we take you to the hospital, isn't that right, Steve?"

Steve snorted, and quickly started fake coughing at the hurt look Tony shot him.

"Now," Sarah continued. "You sit right here while I get my bag." She led Tony to the couch and gently coerced him into sitting.

"So, your mom is kind of...."

"Overbearing?" Steve offered, lowering himself down next to Tony.

"I was going to say she's kind of opinionated, but I guess that works, too. Do all nurses take their gear home?"

"No. I, ah, when I was younger, I was sick a lot, and Ma at one point realized she'd be better off getting some second hand equipment and could keep track of me herself."

"Were you really sick a lot? No offense, but you don't look like someone who was bedridden throughout their childhood." Tony swept his brown eyes over Steve's body.

"Hey!" Steve protested. "I never said I was bedridden. I could have just had bad asthma."

"Steve, not to brag or anything but I'm literally a genius. You don't bring home half a nurse's station to a kid with asthma."

"I found it!" Sarah called from her bedroom. She dropped the bag next to the couch.

Steve watched his mother perform a little check up on Tony. It was kind of comforting in a way; Steve was reminded of all the times he'd been deliriously sick and his mother's presence had seemed to magically make him feel better.

"Well, you seem okay." Sarah announced when she was done. At Tony's hopeful look, she immediately added, "But I'm still going to make you stay for dinner. You're going to be sore enough tomorrow and I don't want to put you in any excess strain right now." 

Steve's stomach rumbled at the mention of food.

"Steve, did you not eat lunch?" his mother asked.

"No; after I... ran into Tony I kind of forgot to eat."

"Well, dinner's not for a few more hours, but why don't you fix Tiny and yourself something to eat in the meantime?"

So Steve got them both some cheese and crackers, and after they were done, Steve took out his homework.

"Sorry I can't do something else with you." Steve grimaced. "But I've got to get started on this Trig homework if I ever want to finish it."

"That's okay. I mean, I could help you if you wanted? I am kind of a genius." Tony smirked.

"It's in the middle of a chapter." Steve said dubiously.

Tony gasped. "Do you doubt my intelligence?"

Steve laughed. "If it were any other subject, I'd say no. But since it's _Trig_..." Steve spat the last word.

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad. What are we working on? Sine? Cosine? Tangent?!" Tony sounded excited on that last one.

"Are you mocking me?"

Tony frowned. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that." He glanced down, and Steve finally got it.

"Wait, do you actually like this stuff?"

Tony shrugged. "I guess you could say that."

"Tony, that's so cool. None of us can figure this out." 

Tony cracked a little grin. "I mean, it's just basic trigonometry. Have you guys even gotten to the graphing part yet?"

Steve swallowed. "There's graphing in Trig? How can you even graph triangles?" 

Tony laughed. "Oh, come on. It's not _that_ bad. Wait until you try to graph a catenary chain! Now, those are cool! You see them all over the place, too, like in architecture all over the world, and not just modern architecture, either. They pop up in nature, too! Here, let me show you!" Tony moved to grab a scarf off its hook by the door. He grabbed it on either end and let the middle part hang down. He held his hand at about shoulder height, biting his lip in concentration as he tried to even out his hands. "Like, you can actually calculate the cosh equation of this scarf! See the way it hangs? It's almost like a parabola, but it has-" He broke off. "Sorry, sometimes I get carried away." He quickly hung the scarf back up.

"No, I think it's cool." Steve insisted. Tony quirked an eyebrow up at him. "Err, I think it's cool how much you care about this?" He amended.

"Oh," Tony blushed, _He's blushing because he's probably still cold, and not because of you, Rogers!_ Steve chided himself. 

They settled into work. Tony was right; he had to be a genius. He understood everything that Steve was tripping up on.

“But why is this line the adjacent, and not this one?” Steve groaned in frustration.

“It’s the hypotenuse; it can’t be the adjacent!”

“Well, why not?”

“Because math has rules and that’s one of them!”

“Ugh.” Steve dropped his head down on the table.

“It helps when you think about it as a whole, instead of breaking it up into little pieces. Like, you can see that each triangle has three sides, right? Well, those three sides are always either going to be the side adjacent to or opposite from the angle in question, plus the hypotenuse. When you look at the triangle as a collection of lines, you start forgetting how they all relate to each other, and that’s what trig is really all about.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not easy; it’s logical. It’s logical for there to be one answer when you solve a triangle.” Tony paused.

“Not everything can be that logical,” he whispered.

Steve glanced up at Tony, but he was already moving on, the moment passed. Steve was starting to learn that Tony’s mind went from one place to another, leapfrogging away and back again.

“And, now you’re done!” Tony said, snatching Steve’s paper and pencil away and carefully checking his work. Steve stared dumbly at him. It had only taken him a fraction of the time it usually did, and for once, Steve hadn’t felt like the world’s biggest idiot while doing it.

Sarah came in to call them to supper, and narrowed her eyes at Tony, who was clearly the one sprawled over Steve’s homework.

“Um, Tony, dear...while I appreciate you helping Steve with his work, I don’t think you should be doing it for him.” She frowned. And the two boys, for very different reasons, blushed dark red.

“No, he did this himself; look!” Tony waved the paper in her face, where she could clearly see Steve’s neat print carefully and meticulously detailing each step.

Sarah broke into a grin.

“Steve, I can’t believe you did it! That’s awesome!”

“Tony helped a lot,” Steve said, blushing again. Sarah leaned over and kissed Steve on the cheek. 

“I knew you’d get it eventually,” she said proudly. Steve glanced at Tony, who had such a strange expression shining on his face, almost like envy. But why would anyone be jealous of his mom? Steve playfully shoved her away.

“I think you were going to tell us supper is ready?” He said hopefully, trying to make Tony forget whatever was causing that awful look on his face.

“Right!” Sarah clapped her hands. “By the power invested in me, I now pronounce us ready to eat!”

They settled at the dining table, and it was nice to have another person eating with them. Steve couldn’t remember the last time there’d been another living person sharing a meal with them. Tony tried to grab his water glass, but at Sarah’s soft “ _Ahem_.” he snatched his hand away.

Sarah grabbed Steve’s hand and Steve grabbed Tony’s as they said grace. Tony clearly didn’t know what to do and Steve blushed again in embarrassment. _If I blush one more time I’m going to get stuck like this,_ he thought ruefully. At least his hand wasn’t sweaty. Steve would have died if it was.

“...through Christ, our Lord. Amen.” Steve muttered. Sarah shot him a look that Steve purposefully ignored. Steve supposed that it was only natural that seeing ghosts would make a person either deeply atheist or very devout, and Sarah was the latter, and she liked to remind Steve that while he lived under her roof, he was also devout by association.

After the awkward moments beforehand, dinner was...pleasant. Sarah was delighted that Steve finally had a friend who understood trigonometry, and Tony clearly didn’t mind Sarah’s mothering. He answered questions, genuinely laughed at Sarah and Steve’s jokes, and had nothing but good things to say about Sarah’s homemade dumplings, which Steve was grateful for. Sarah had once estimated that 1 in 10 ghosts were people who’d ended up regretting taking their secret recipe to the grave and as such had a lot of conflicting ideas about food from around the world and across the centuries. Once, Steve had witnessed a recently deceased Bosnian woman and a centuries-old Polish man have an argument over the best dumpling filling. It had only ended when Sarah threatened to cook the dough the American way, like they were having tonight. Steve, as someone who had grown up with her food, could never tell whether or not it was actually good.

Dessert had turned out to be German chocolate cake. The second her knife had touched the icing on top of the cake, the spirit of a very short woman had appeared next to her. Steve pretended not to see her.

“Yes, that icing looks so good! I know some people say the type of butter doesn’t matter but you can clearly tell the difference!” The ghost told Sarah, beaming with joy. Her accent seemed more Midwestern than New Yorker, but Steve really wasn’t good with accents.

Sarah served them up a slice each, and the spirit watched the three of them eat. Sarah and Steve both tried to express how good the cake was without overselling it, but Tony was genuinely delighted all on his own.

“This might be the best cake I’ve ever eaten.”

“Thank you,” Sarah and the ghost both said at the same time. 

“It was my mother’s recipe, you know.” The ghost continued. “I just couldn’t bear the shame of seeing her again after all these years and having to tell her I couldn’t make it after she died. I didn’t realize what it was like on this side, and I thought baking it again would ruin my memories of the two of us. How ridiculous that is.” The ghost scoffed a little. “Oh my…” She stepped back, her eyes fixed on something neither Steve nor Sarah would be able to see.

“Thank you, Sarah,” the ghost said, and then she was gone. Sarah sniffled a little.

“Allergies,” she said at Tony’s concerned look. “Well, the two of you should start heading off to Tony’s if Steve’s going to make it home before dark. Where did you say you lived?”

“Um, Manhattan.” Tony looked guilty.

“Manhattan?! What on Earth are you doing going to school in Brooklyn, you crazy boy?” His mother asked.

“Mr. Pym is an old friend of my dad’s.” Tony replied with a stiff shrug, but that still didn’t make sense to Steve. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather just take a taxi home.”

Mrs. Rogers gnawed on her lip. “I guess that’s fine with me. But I need you to call us in exactly one hour, confirming you made it home okay, and I need you to send Steve a selfie of you in your bed, proving you aren’t straining yourself.”

“Ma, he’s not a baby,” Steve protested.

“I can see he’s not a baby, Steven,” her eyes flashed and Steve was reminded of their earlier conversation and how he wasn’t out of the woods yet. “But considering how it’s my job to worry about young boys like the two of you, I’m going to.”

“C’mon,” said Steve, shrugging on his coat. “I’ll walk you out and wait with you while you call a cab.”

“Oh, I can just walk myself.” 

“Nah, I don’t mind. Here, you can borrow my canary chain while we wait.” And Steve looped the scarf from earlier around his neck.

“It’s actually called a-” Tony looked at Steve. “Was that supposed to be a joke?”

Steve quirked his lips up.

“You aren’t nearly as funny as you think you are. And legally it can only be called a pun if it comes from the Pun Region in France.” But now Tony was smiling, too, and that made Steve want to grin back.

“I think he’s perfectly funny!” Sarah called from the kitchen.

“Not now, Ma!” Steve shouted back. To Tony he said, “Her taste in humor is worse than mine. Let’s get you out of here before she makes you listen to her old comedy albums. They don’t even make those anymore.” 

He grabbed Tony’s hand and pulled him down the stairs and out onto the street.

Tony cleared his throat. Steve glanced down at their joined hands and blushed.

“Oops,” he said. “Sorry.” He let go of Tony’s hand.

“I didn’t mind,” Tony said as he climbed into the backseat of a little yellow cab. “Thanks for saving my life.”

“I didn’t mind, either,” Steve replied with a grin.

True to his word, Tony called him when he got home, and Steve pretended to go to bed early so Sarah would have to hang up the phone.

Steve was tired, to be sure, but sleep didn't come easy. He tossed and turned for what felt like half the night and when he did finally sleep, he dreamt of the beach.

He saw Tony, half submerged, but this time, he was struggling, fighting to stay afloat. He was pinned down by the same tall man who'd tried to kill him once before. And Steve couldn't move; he was frozen by the icy stare of the sopping wet ghost, and he was going to do it this time, wasn't he? He wasn't going to stop until Tony was just like him-

Steve jerked awake, and saw the man standing at the foot of his bed, dripping down onto Steve's carpeting, his face twisted into the same mixture of hate and confusion as before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: another near death experience of a minor character. (No one dies, though!)
> 
> So this takes place in New York City, but don’t ask me how Tony Stark from the Upper East Side and Steve Rogers from Brooklyn can go to the same high school. It’s a mystery to me, too. Maybe I’ll just say that Tony Stark is rich and can do whatever he wants. But I will say that I did a lot of research into the other locations in this chapter; Prospect Park, Green-Wood cemetery, and the Brooklyn Bridge Park are all in Brooklyn and relatively close to each other. Brooklyn full of supposedly haunted places, like the McCarren Park Pool and Green-Wood, and it has a lot more historical cemeteries than I expected. I got into the rabbithole of ethnic enclaves in Brooklyn and figure Steve & his mother realistically wouldn’t live in Windsor Terrace, because I think it’s probably just a little too expensive for the average nurse’s salary in NYC (like I said, I went deep into a rabbithole. I like worldbuilding. Whether or not I’m good at that is up for debate, but I certainly have a heck of a time learning about things that only tangentially relate to my writing.) However, Windsor Terrace has a high population of Irish-Americans, a lot of Catholic churches and access to a cemetery that is considered one of the spookiest places in New York. I also spent way too long researching what high school this could take place in, because not every school in New York has access to a football field, like they do where I live. Instead, there are a lot of schools with sports that can be easily contained, like volleyball, fencing, and table tennis. All this to say, if I spend any more time researching the charter school system and sports culture of New York City I could write a very long essay and no one would probably care enough to read it.
> 
> Yes, cosh, sinh, and tanh are only second year calculus, so it would not be that interesting to a fully grown Tony Stark/engineer in general, but it is impressive for a high schooler, imo!
> 
> Southern/American style dumplings are made by dropping dough into stews. The Polish ghost would have preferred pierogi, which typically have potatoes in some form as the filling and the Bosnian woman would have insisted on klepe, which usually have a filling of spiced meat & onions, and they would both be offended by an American not even bothering to fill the dough before using it. (Side note: I personally love all types of dumplings.)
> 
> Locations mentioned:  
> Windsor Terrace: A Brooklyn neighborhood that is nestled between Green-Wood Cemetery and Prospect Park.  
> Green-Wood Cemetery: One of Brooklyn’s historical cemeteries, it boasts plenty of wildlife and several celebrity graves.  
> Prospect Park: Adjacent to Windsor Terrace, Prospect Park is an urban park that took inspiration from Central Park, as the architects also helped design Central Park. It’s about 150 years old, and was actually built around a private Quaker (Society of Friends) cemetery that is still in use by Quakers today. The cemetery is off-limits to park goers.  
> Waldorf-Astoria: An opulent Art Deco hotel in Midtown Manhattan, it was known for being prestigious; a reputation that lives on to this day. It has since been partially converted to luxury condos. It opened during the early years of the Great Depression & Langston Hughes made a parody advertisement for it, writing, “ “All the luxuries of private home. . . ." / Now, won't that be charming when the last flop-house / has turned you down this winter?”  
> Brooklyn Bridge Park: A series of mini parks that were built on salvaged piers. Pier 4 is technically a beach, but visitors aren’t allowed in the water. Other piers include: sports fields, playgrounds, wildlife preserves, tidal pools, picnic lawns & art installations
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings (Spoilers!): violence against high school aged children. No one actually dies in the duration of this story, but several characters reference the somewhat graphic death of a teenager, and another teenage character gets into several near death scenarios. 
> 
> title from Edgar Allen Poe's Annabel Lee:
> 
> _"For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams  
>  Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;  
> And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes  
> Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;  
> And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side  
> Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,  
> In her sepulchre there by the sea—  
> In her tomb by the sounding sea."_
> 
>   
> the chapter titles are from other Poe poems. (Poe-ms, if you will.)
> 
> Please, please, please feel free to comment anything you want! It's been awhile since I last posted anything (lol), so that means it's also been awhile since I've gotten any feedback on my writing!


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